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A Gentleman's Disagreement
The CC as some people tend to call it, is your average cantina. It doesn't try to be more then it is, nor does it try to exclude anyone. Along the right wall is a long bar that runs the length of the building. At the far end, behind the bar is a doorway that leads to the back with a small sign in several languages that reads Employee's only. Against the left side of the room are several booths, of various sizes. Each booth appears to be made of a different material. As well, each of the booths has their own personality almost, decorated in a specific theme. In the center of the room, a few tables are scattered about here and there. All easily movable should the need arise for a larger party. At the far end of the cantina a small stage is present, for when local musicians provide music, or if someone wishes to speak to the entire place. The lights overhead are bright, giving the place a decent look. In all the holovids, stories focus on the action that can inevitably happen throughout the career of any field agent. What they so often leave out is the absolutely insane amount of waiting that takes up the vast majority of an agent's time. Getting to a meet hours early to see what the opposition is bringing. Sitting in a cafe to surveil a target of some sort. Laying in wait for an ambush. Waiting for a response from HQ. It was the latter for Drax Rendolen, now that he had returned to Ord Mantell and submitted his reports. Requests for further intelligence he wasn't suited to gather were also submitted and some heated discussions were had to follow up. So the waiting game was on and the general displeasure of the whole situation was getting to the Alderaanian. He's at one of the tables in the middle of the room, his back diagonally to a corner with a peripheral view of the rear entrance, the front entrance, and the bar area. In front of him is a 25 year old bottle of Corellian whiskey and a glass, almost certainly containing some, dangling from his fingertips. Smoke from his nicostick hangs in the air around him, building a bit each time he exhales. In all the pamphlets of 'good parenting', the alleged experts fail to advise how one ought tell their child that he/she has a sibling they never knew existed previously, much less how to explain the technicalities behind such extramarital procreation. Ambassador Delgard had tried it, summoning her years of negotiation and conference experience to the table, and it went about as well as she'd anticipated. Which, to say, is not very well at all. So it is that the battle-weary diplomat shoves her way through a few exiting bodies at CC's entrance, on a mission with a better-anticipated success rate - after leaving the armored Nanny to watch the tempestuous eleven-year old, after picking her up from class, after answering a summons from her tutor telling of a particularly effective punch her child had delivered to a senator's son, after he teased her, /after/ Gabi told a friend who told what her mother had told her last night. "Anything." Ambrosia requests from the barkeep, making her first stop the mile-long watering trough to the right. Another fine day for our Republic-friendly neighborhood cargo-hauler. Jaspar wanders in, carrying a simple cloth bag in one hand. He checks the place out, looking for--ah, there she is! Spotting Ambrosia, the smuggler moves in. "Ambassador. Fancy meeting you here." He nods also to the RepMil cowboy. "Drax." He offers the bag over to Ambrosia. "Figured you could use a re-up." A friendly smile. "I've got more aboard my ship, if you're of a mind." A fair portion of Drax's bottle has gone missing over the undetermined amount of time he had already been in the Cat's Claw. It was enough where he could just start to sense it, without impairing his general function or ability to keep tabs on the room. Emerald eyes roll around in their sockets, tracking the Ambassador as she barrels through the Cantina towards the bar and makes her order. Just as he is about to open his mouth to greet the woman, his attention is pulled back to the door, noting the entrance of another familiar figure. "Well, hello to you both." His hand pulls his glass up and he pulls in a healthy amount in one smooth motion before setting it back down. Midway through the motion, Drax spots a third familiar face entering the Cantina and his eyes stay fixed on him. Ivar. One of his NRI handlers and certainly no coincidence he would wind up in the same watering hole. "You both care to join me?" Jaspar settles in with a polite "thank you," and orders up a Corellian whiskey, neat. Nothing flashy, just whiskey in a rocks/Old Fashioned glass. He smiles to the other two, feeling rather comfortable here. Letting his guard down, one might think.. but no, no, he still has his guard up, if only just. Ambrosia picks at a fingernail, looking over her shoulder to the offered sack of mysteries while she leans in wait for her drink. "What is it?" She queries almost worriedly, catching the sound of Drax's voice in her fancily upgraded cochlear implant and twisting around to locate his face. Her 'Kashyyk Fireball" arrives, complete with a burst of blue flame to set the rim of the glass sizzling. It's uncomfortably appropriate. Taking it gingerly in hand, Delgard abandons the bar in favor of joining Drax at table. "I feel as though I owe you one of these. But not this one." This one gets tossed down the hatch before it can burn her tongue. Drax forms a smile and nods to the smuggler, getting up out of his seat as the two come to join him. Shuffling to the side, he pulls one chair out for the Ambassador and does the gentlemanly thing he had been taught as a child for this situation. "Well, I appreciate that offer. I don't recall every having one, actually. Which isn't to say I haven't..." All through the motion, his eyes stay on the man on the other side of the Cantina, tracking him as he takes his sweet time in crossing the room. "Enjoying being back out in the world?" The former Infiltrator shuffles over to his own seat, pulls the sides of his jacket a bit out of his way, and sits back down. He refills his own glass and then slides the bottle forward for Jaspar, offering it for his next round if he was so inclined. "I got a feeling you were in need of a re-up, in terms of the doll, so I went ahead and procured a new one for you, Ambassador. It's just like the one you have now, except this one is ever so covertly modified. It doubles as a discrete hip-flask: pop the head off -- the cork, you see -- and pour in your favorite beverage. Pop the head back on, stick it somewhere, and it's just another toy.. but not quite." Jaspar rolls his shoulders, grinning. "You know, it's a one-of-a-kind, as of right now." A pause. "I could keep selling these dolls, and offer the hide-a-flask on the side.." He muses, rubbing his chin thoughtfully, nodding to himself. As the bottle comes his way, he pours himself a measure, and sends it right back. "Loving every minute of it. Dodging the Imperials, moving cargo.. always fun to pull one over on old Sith-for-brains.." "Like I never left it," Ambrosia murmurs, closing her eyes against the flare of non-thermal heat rising in her chest. Eyeing Jaspar's gift sideways, she looks skeptical. But curious. Taking the bait, she utters a soft "Thanks..." and takes the beverage-smuggling Thel into hand for closer inspection. "Hey, you got the nose right, this time," she commends lightly, sliding it across the table to a distracted Drax for his enjoyment. "Don't think I'll let Gabi shoot this one." As Ivar was getting closer, Drax gives the room another scan and catalogs the exits and occupants. Under the table, he flips the safeties off of his IR-5 pistols, pulls them a bit further out of their holsters, and returns with a lighter and pack of nicosticks in one of his hands. The pack comes up to his mouth for him to pull one stick out before he sets the pack down and proceeds with lighting the fresh stick. Trying to stay in the local conversation, he pushes out a grin and shakes his head. "Leave it to a... creative courier to come up with something like that." His free hand catches the doll and he holds it up to get a closer look, still keeping an eye on the man who is now reaching the table. "Nice work on this. Could use something like this sometimes..." Ivar's voice cuts in as he clears his throat and takes hold of the sole remaining seat. "Mr. Rendolen. I was wondering if you would be able to come with me. It's come to my attention that there is a safety concern that has arisen as of late and it would be in everyone's best interest if the situation was contained." Looking at the other occupants of the table, he offers up a curt nod to each. Jaspar offers his own glance to Ivar, before covertly redirecting it to Ambrosia, and to Drax. He keeps his hands in clear view, not wanting to start anything. Someone else can light the fuse; it sure won't be him. The nod is returned in kind. Ambrosia stows her new 'toy' on her belt, still smiling faintly with amusement as Ivar helps himself to a seat. Uh oh. While she's not been privvy to this stranger's company before, she gets the jist of his lingo enough to ID his presence as being generally unwanted. Glancing between her companions with a quick read of their expressions, she then offers Ivar an equally cool nod and stare. "Well, it's good of you to join us today, Ivar." Drax's free hand motions towards the smuggler as he begins the introductions, "This is Jaspar Andromidas, a terrific transporter of goods, as you are aware. And this is Ambassador Ambrosia Delgard" Drax's hand sweeps over to Ambrosia to finalize the introductions. "Everyone, this is Mr. Ivar with New Republic Intelligence. Let's not be too hasty or rude, Mr. Ivar. We still have..." His eyes roll over to the bottle and he nods approvingly. "A good three quarters of a bottle left to work through. How about we talk about this when we reach that point?" The Senior Agent's hands are back in his lap as he leans back in his chair now, grinning just as he always does. Ivar is less than pleased with the formalities and a scowl appears on his features. "Drax, this is serious. Some irregularities have shown up on your last scan, you have a bounty on your head, and the brass is nervous about you being in the field on personal matters right now." Ivar turns to each of the others and offers up an apologetic glance before offering a more stern one for the Alderaanian. Light pours into the Cantina once more as the front door opens and two more men step inside, each one remaining on either side of the doorway. Scan? Ambrosia arcs a questioning brow to Drax on that note before movement in the doorway catches her attention. Bad things come in three. Reaching for Drax's brew, she makes a move to wet her suddenly parched throat. "If I'm not mistaken, Mr. Ivar, everyone at this table has been the target of at least one bounty during the course of their career. While it's no laughing matter, I imagine Agent Rendolen is capable of navigating this sort of establishment safely. If it's a 'scan' that concerns you, I'd question the integrity of the doctor who disclosed that information before first consulting their patient." Ambrosia shifts just a degree in her seat, crossing her legs while pouring a shot for herself. "Perhaps your consultation can wait until we've finished our business meeting?" Jaspar keeps his eyes on Ivar, while busying himself with taking periodic sips from his own hip-flask, offering a nod of acknowledgement. Not a Thel-flask, but a regular hip-flask, mind you. The smuggler shifts about in his seat, eliciting a few muffled pops from his lower back as he works his joints, sighing with relief when the deed's done, and he's all loosened up. "Yes, Madame Ambassador, but not everyone is banging on doors on Nar Shaddaa while carrying operational details that need to remain closely kept. Mr. Rendolen, I'm afraid that I need to insist. The stakes are far too great to risk your safety over. We need to stabilize this and keep you safe while your primary operation is ongoing." Ivar now begins to stand, straightening his jacket as he does so. Observe. One potential hostile close by, two at the door, and another two mixed in with the other patrons. Two friendlies close by. Orient. Front door impossible, back door is clear and only a few paces away, friendlies are getting edgy and must remain clean. Decide. Four hostiles against a normal march to the door was risky, perhaps too risky. Will need insurance to reach the door. Act. Drax's foot kicks out to send Ivar across the cantina, express delivery speed. He uses the momentum and slide of his chair to come up behind Ambrosia. Two matte gray IR-5 pistols are in his hands as he comes out of his chair and he wastes no time pulling the Ambassador up with him, a hand reaching around her to keep one firmly placed up under her chin and the other held straight out to cover other targets. It tracks from Ivar, to the two at the door, to the men in the booths who are now beginning to stand up. "Everyone stay calm and we'll laugh about this later. Madame Ambassador, I apologize, but I would like to accompany you to the door." The initial resistance from the Ambassador is more than he had anticipated as he takes an elbow to the gut, causing him to press the blaster up a little more firmly under her chin. "Again, I am terribly sorry about this." As the guns come out, Jaspar's instincts kick in: he kicks against the table, rolls heels over head backwards out of his chair and to a kneeling position, keeping himself nice and small so as to prevent himself from becoming a target of opportunity (or a victim of friendly fire). He ponders reaching for his weapon, but quickly reconsiders, not wanting to be threat-listed. "What the-- alright, what the hell's going on? One minute we're enjoying drinks, now this?" He mouths a 'what the hell' to Drax/Ambrosia, looking for some sort of signal, anything to get him onto the same page. "I'm not..." Ambrosia hisses through clenched teeth, quite unappreciative of her now-strained view of the rest of the room. The ceiling's nice, though. Her elbow remains pinned against her captor's solarplexus while the rest of her stiffens into obedience. There've been worse ways to be escorted places, though. At least Drax is well groomed and smells nice? If Jaspar's waiting for the secretive wink from the hostage, he isn't getting one. The bulge of Ambrosia's eyes in genuine in expression of confusion and irritability. Seems she missed this memmo. "Jaspar, stay in the seat, please. The bottle is yours for your trouble." Drax is stepping backwards and using pressure from his one arm to direct the Ambassador to come with him. His free blaster flicks from target to target as needed, doing his best to keep them each subdued as he makes his way to the rear exit of the cantina. "Ivar, I'll be damned if I let her rot without lifting a finger for her and you know as well as I do that the scan is a load of Bantha dung." Ivar is grunting as he comes back up, a DL-44 blaster pistol in hand. He stays crouched behind a nearby table as the two men near the front entrance begin funneling other patrons out of the cantina. "Drax, there are things bigger than the two of you going on right now. I can't let you get taken, especially in your condition." As the Alderaanian reaches the rear exit, he pulls in a little tighter to Ambrosia and whispers in her ear, "I cannot apologize enough. Thank you for your help, I owe you one. Now, please stay right here for a few seconds, if you could." He carefully disengages himself from the Ambassador and stalks back behind her before he is clear to kick the back door open and begin running down the rear alleyway in a full sprint. Ivar now stands up straight, bringing a comlink up. "Subject on the move behind the Cat's Claw. Southeast. I want speeders in the air and all units to begin converging." He runs immediately for the rear exit as the other agents begin to head out through the front entrance. Ambrosia obliges, watching the oncoming rush of agents with apprehension as Drax makes his exit. Whirling about the heartbeat she's no longer a human shield, the ambassador shoulders through the same rear exit and cries down the alleyway. "What did you do, Rendolen!? I expect an explana-" And she gets agent-smashed (gently, of course) into the side of the building, pulled back inside by one while the others pursue their rogue comrade. "OFF!" The inebriated ambassador commands upon being deposited safely in the CC. Shaking, she drops into a chair. The smuggler knows when to think for himself, and when to do as he's told. In this case, he takes the latter route, offering a covert nod, and settling back into his seat. He begins eyeballing the bottle. Something about the way Drax spoke to him just seemed to set everything right.. made everything seem hunky-dory. Normally, in this case, alarm-bells would be going off, and he might have shot the man square between the eyes. At least, that's how it could have played out in his head. Whether it would have happened in reality is another matter. "May I?" Ambrosia motions for Jaspar to hand over the liquid goods when her nerves have stopped being so twitchy. "Respectfully, Ambassador, you need it more than I do." Jaspar responds. The liquid goods are passed over, without further ado. "At least someone makes sense in this joint," Ambrosia grunts, pulling the top off and pouring herself a double before offering Jaspar the remainder. She doesn't get it quite halfway to her mouth though, before one of the agents still in the room approaches with direct eye contact. Clearly, he's got something to say. Or insist that she not. "Go home to your daughters. If you hear from Agent Rendolan, Ambassador Delgard, I 'respectfully' advise you to keep us informed." A small business card with contact information gets pressed into her hand in exchange for the shot, which he dumps on the floor. DaughterS. He said daughters. Ambrosia's in no position to misstep, for Kovani's sake. But...Her gaze hardens in the wake of the booze splatter, and she runs her tongue thoughtfully over her lower lip. Such a depressing little puddle, that. Expensive, too. "I've no misunderstanding of what you expect from me, Sr Agent. It's quite clear what I must do. What I /will/ do." Painting a pretty smile with her lips, she stands from the disheveled table and gives Jaspar a cordgial nod. "Good eve to you, Mr. Andromidas. I'll examine your wares another time, perhaps." "Another time, Ambassador. I hope our next meeting will be under better circumstances.." The smuggler responds, nodding, musing to himself as he, too, begins collecting himself.